A Dream Rooted in Stories
Growing up in Gujarat with Goan parents, my earliest memories of Goa were a tapestry woven from my mother’s and grandmother’s stories. They painted a picture of a vibrant land filled with swaying palms, golden beaches, and a lively football culture—a place that felt both deeply familiar and frustratingly out of reach. Later in life, this romanticized vision, along with the realization that I was born in free India in 1955, while Goa remained under Portuguese rule until 1961, fuelling my longing to connect with my ancestral homeland. Goa wasn’t just a place; it was an unattainable dream, a piece of my heritage I longed to touch but could only imagine.
The Spark of Youth
As a teenager, my passion for football defined me more than my grades ever did. It was football that earned me a spot in college and its team, where I met Goan teammates whose tales of Goa’s electrifying football scene fuelled my fascination. Their stories of local matches, passionate fans, and community pride made Goa feel alive in my mind. I yearned to visit, to walk its shores and feel the pulse of its culture, but the opportunity eluded me. The dream simmered, a mix of longing and idealized fantasy.
The First Glimpse
In 1978, after graduating, I finally set foot in Goa. The visit was fleeting—just a day or two—but it was enough to make the place real. The beaches were as breathtaking as I’d imagined, but they also carried a weight of expectation. I’d once read that “the greatest need is created by illusory desires,” and yet my pull to Goa felt undeniable, rooted in something deeper than fantasy. That brief encounter left me hungry for more, a taste of a home I didn’t yet fully understand.
A Life Abroad, A Heart in Goa
For the next 22 years, I worked abroad, my connection to Goa limited to holiday visits. Each trip offered a glimpse of what I’d missed: the vibrant Goa of the 1970s and 1980s, an era I now see as its golden age. I watched that vibrancy fade over the decades, replaced by change and modernity. Still, those short visits kept the dream alive, a thread tying me to my roots.
Settling into My Roots
In 2010, life took an unexpected turn, and I found myself settling in Goa permanently. It was a leap I embraced wholeheartedly. No longer a visitor, I dove into Goa’s rich cultural legacy—its music, food, and festivals. But the transition wasn’t seamless. At a wedding reception shortly after moving, I felt a cultural disconnect from local Goans. Their rhythms, their slang, and their shared history were foreign to me. For a moment, I wondered: Was I just a “wannabe Goan”?
Finding My Identity
That question lingered, forcing me to reflect. Who was I, really? I was Goan by ancestry, my blood tied to this land through my parents. Yet, my upbringing in Gujarat, shaped by family, religion, and education, had moulded me in ways that set me apart. Add to that over two decades of living abroad, where I’d absorbed a global perspective. I wasn’t just Goan, nor just Gujarati, nor just a world traveller—I was a blend of all three. My identity wasn’t a single thread but a vibrant weave of experiences, places, and cultures.
Embracing the Journey
Settling in Goa didn’t resolve my longing; it redefined it. I no longer chase an idealized vision of Goa. Instead, I live it—its beauty, its changes, its contradictions. My journey to Goa wasn’t just about finding a place; it was about finding myself. And in that search, I’ve learned that identity isn’t something you inherit or arrive at—it’s something you build, one story, one visit, one moment at a time.
